


Numb Fingers and Cold Noses.

by orphan_account



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristoff is a bit over-attentive at times, though Anna can't quite bring herself to complain. Smut and fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Anna,” he hisses during the middle of the night, waking her up in a confused state of panic.

“Wha…?” she raises her infamous mass of bedhead and glances around her. “Wha’s wrong? Kristoff?” she slurs.  
She finds him bent over her legs, her feet propped up on his lap.

“Your feet are freezing.” He accuses, rubbing his hands together for friction before placing them on her icy toes.  
Her breathing steadies after she spends a few sleepy moments registering what he just said.

“Oh Kristoff,” she flops down on her back, sighing tiredly. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I thought somebody died or something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were cold?” 

Already her feet feel worlds better, salvaged from a chill that hadn’t affected her sleep in the slightest.

“Because it’s February. We’re in a stone castle. It gets cold. It’s no big deal. Now let me go back to sleep.”

She never liked to admit she loved his overprotective side at some moments, because it only encouraged situations like this.

He grips her ankle, giving her leg a slight tug to regain her attention. 

“Your feet were like ice,” He says softly, glancing at the small bare foot in his lap, “I just…I just can’t not take that as a big deal. I wake up and you’re shivering and… I hate seeing you like that, okay?”

At this, she rises back to her elbows, the dim light from the moon slightly illuminating her face, biting her lip with guilt. 

He sighs, his big, attentive eyes never missing anything she does, and grabs one of her hands to hold in his. 

“I shouldn’t snap at you over this. It’s not your fault. I just, want to make sure you’re okay, and that you’re safe, and… warm enough.”

His face twists up nervously at the confession, they’ve never been good at communicating this stuff; it either came out in a rushed blur or not at all. 

She squeezes his hand, now fully awake whether she wanted to be or not, and stared at his face contemplatively. 

“Alright,” she says causally, releasing his hand and dropping back against the pillows, “Warm me up.”

The challenge is so, so delicately poised between them, about to teeter over and barrel towards him with her intentions, and they’ve both gotten much better at getting double meanings over the last few months. Quicker than she expected, surprising her somehow, he grabs her waist, hovering his body over hers. She craves his weight on top of her body, but the moments before he lays himself down where just hovers like a predator are all the better for riling her up. 

Her eyes glimmer with the alertness spreading through her brain. She’s awake now, that’s for certain, and she holds her hands to his face, warming his cheeks. 

“Your skin is cold,” She accuses teasingly. 

He shakes his head in her grasp, dropping his gaze to hide the flush spreading across his face. She giggles, nuzzling his face with hers. Her hands draw him down to blanket her body with his, tingles spreading through her spine at the contact of all of his body over all of her body. He uses his hands to create friction. He’s used to numb fingers and cold noses, so much that he doesn’t notice them on himself. But he’s training his fingers to the feel of her body, when it flushes with rushing blood and eager nerves and when she lies in a curled ball, willing the sun to offer some comfort. Well, at night, they have little faith in the sun until morning. Kristoff will have to act on its behalf. 

She clings to him as his grinding against her body progressively has less and less layers covering it, and finally once they’ve slid skirts up and pants down and all in-between aside, he’s filling her with slow, deep thrusts that have sparks flickering in her spine. His face nuzzles hers, savoring her flushed skin against his, her warm panting brushing his lips and ears. His hands make eager work of hardened nipples and the terrain of her spine, working the chills out until all that is left is a pooling warmth that makes her head thick with pleasure.

Her placeholder sun, her fire in a blizzard, her warmth. She wants to smother herself with him, the fur at his chest and the warmth on his skin and the body that is both soft and hard, when his limbs and torso surrender and soften hiding the hard planes of muscle underneath. 

He has a good hold of her legs, working her over with his cock as she mewls and lets out quiet whimpers in his ear. He’s using a lot of strength but also is incredibly gentle with his touch. There is no tension in his hands as he strokes them over her thighs, his grip won’t loosen but it is nimbly relaxed.

She lies, her limbs dancing underneath him, feet trying to gain traction on the sheets so she can jack her hips up to meet his thrusts. Her hands grab at whatever offers a good hold for her, she feels as though she’s climbing a cliff and all her footholds slip under her feet. Still, his thrusts are steady and rolling, a lullaby against her body. It eases her efforts until she lies against his tide, rising and falling into her body.

She accepts every kiss he offers her. He loves when her wildness is eventually tamed under his influence, she’s too heady with need and in a trance of pleasure to buck and grind against him. 

He adjusts her hips to brush his cock along the place inside her they don’t speak about but both know, dragging his pelvis carefully whenever her leaves her to grant her clit attention with his body. the force of his sex is winding down to deliberate acts of pleasuring her, and when they build a rhythm that was she’s suddenly grinding and whimpering again, then moaning, them smothering herself with his lips and tongue as her walls clench around him, while something with the force of an avalanche rolls though her body. He follows her clenching walls down her fall, and they cum together; she has to thank his attentiveness and attention and over-protective intentions for that. That he learned her body so well, so he could put her first. 

He noses her face gently, curiously, for approval. She tangles her fingers in his hair, smiling sleepily. Her sated face is enough of an answer and he pulls her to his chest, spooning their bodies. He brushes her sweaty bangs from her brow, kissing her cheek as she grows limp for exhaustion. It’s a good tired, a familiar tired that assures her that sleep will come soon. 

“You know, most men would just fetch me socks and call it a night,” she teases, lazily drawing closer to him. 

He laughs in spite himself, pressing his brow to her shoulder. “Do you need them?” 

She closes her eyes. “I’m sweating all over, Kristoff,” she chuckles breathily, her voice gaining that flat quality that it gets when she’s tired, humor still there but no energy behind it.

“Well…I’m glad that worked.” He kisses her shoulder blade before cuddling her in his big arms. 

“Yeah that was…pretty effective.”

“Glad you thought so.”

“You still worry too much.”

“I know.”

“Kristoff?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll never have to see that again. What happened to me. I’m going to be okay.” Her eyes are open again when she says this. He watches her face  
carefully, his expression softening. 

“I know. I just get scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared. Just don’t worry so much.”

“I’ll work on it.”

There’s a silent stillness, as clean and untouched as a fresh layer of snow, and they savor it for a moment. He presses his lips to her temple. 

“I just don’t want to lose you.” He says quietly, in a tender little voice that makes her think of a child. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” She draws his hand to her heart, to feel her pulse. Still thundering in her chest, thudding with life, pumping with warmth.

He’d always manage to warm her heart. 

.


	2. Love Will Thaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kristoff falls through the ice, Anna warms him up.

She froze to death in front of him, but it was only once. He vowed it would never happen again.

He nearly froze to death on a weekly basis. It was an occupational hazard. Unavoidable. Bound to happen. 

Accidents had to have happened, even if you counted out his and Sven’s antics, maneuvering large men on frozen lakes with heavy sleds and sharp, powerful tools was a trade that was bound to lead to injuries. And deaths. He’d seen people pulled under the ice, lose fingers and hands and feet to idle blades and the razors of cold. He knew to listen for cracking and to keep his wits about him. He knew to be sure where his pick was going to land, every single time. He was skilled, he was careful, but accidents were bound to happen.

His gut reactions are what almost end him, the logistics are still a blur, Sven had a rock wedged in his hoof and let out a groan, and not thinking, Kristoff hurried to his friend to help. Over thin ice. He felt his weight drop through his feet, like the sensation of falling before you drift off to sleep. 

He fell through the ice. He should have died. Nearly did, if it wasn’t for a certain queen who could leach cold out of a human body in a matter of seconds.

A few other workers had hauled him back after many terror-charged minutes, dancing on the edge of accident and melting into tragedy. Elsa did her best to remove the sensation of cold, but had no warmth to replace it with. He was numb, cold as a cadaver and just about as lively. At his side was Anna, his opposite: all nervous energy and fiery rage, perpetual motion and belligerent words. 

In the dream he had, he was running for her again. The snow underneath him turned itself over, rising and falling like sand dunes in a faraway land. There was no solid ground to help get closer to her. She was so far, a speck already from distance, withering into nothing. Growing colder and colder.  
He can feel the chill in her blood, how her spine resisted any movements and curled and tried to still her limbs.

It nearly kills him, the pain lying heavily in her body. 

 

It takes him a long time to figure out it isn’t her body, its his.

It’s not until the warmth returns, slowly, that he realizes it was him who is cold. 

He wakes, feeling the kind of dizziness likened to being asleep for a very long time, to the sensation of something warm draped over his body. 

“You idiot,” he hears a muffled voice in his ear, “You colossal idiot.”

He chuckles feebly, ruffling her hair with fingers that can’t quite bend. “That’s me.”

“I swear, I could kill you right now.”

“Hey, you almost died, I almost died; we’re even.” 

He hears a few muffled sniffles against his neck, and her body can’t hide its trembling.

His smile breaks and he holds her tighter against his body. “Hey, don’t do that, I’m okay. It’s okay.” He repeats these and many other words to her, frantic to get her to stop crying. 

“Shut up,” she whimpers, smushing him with her arms. 

He savors her blanketed warmth, trying to cover his big body with her impossibly small one. He rubs her back quietly as she absorbs him; that he’s returned to her and he’s safe and in one piece. 

Her brow presses against his. He touches the face so dear to him, strokes trembling fingers over her skin.

“You’re shaking,” the whisper squeezes out of her scrunched-up face. 

“It’s normal, don’t worry about it.”

“How is anything having to do with falling through ice normal?” she cries out. 

He grabs her shoulders, running his hands over her back carefully. “Relax, okay? I’ll be fine in a few hours. I just need to…thaw out a little bit…”

She gives him a weak smile, grabbing his hands and cradling them tightly against her chest. They meet the warmth at her bosom and he groans at the sense of her heart fluttering in her chest. He’s too numb to the feel of her skin, and that loss pangs in his heart.

“Hey, I’ve got all my limbs, all my fingers, and from what I can tell, no permanent nerve damage…”

She has this look on her face like all of this information means nothing. Hurt was hurt. She’d give anything to have it never have happened. 

She froze to death in front of him, so she knew how awful it was. No wonder she was scared. She knew exactly how bad it was. She didn’t want that for him. 

It’s when he realizes this does the sadness truly settle in his gut, his mind thick with it and his throat filled with it’s presence. Her watery eyes fill once again and that’s all it takes for him to surge forward and kiss her. It’s a rare time they haven’t established permission first and discussed a million seconds before initiating. His lips trap hers, sucking her bottom lip gently, and he feels his heart beat faster. Hers is beating faster as well, under his hands. The blood moves quicker in his veins and already he groans at the tingling in his toes as the circulation works through them, bit by bit, pin-pricks and needle-marks. 

“I warm you up when you’re cold, will you warm me up now?” he murmurs against her lips. 

He offers her a control she’s never taken. He lies under her with limited mobility, and she’s already draped over him. 

“Is this the best idea?” she breathes, holding his face in both hands.

He kisses her palm and nods. She nods back, her eyes gleaming with determination. 

This time is different than all the others: slow and urgent in a new way. His hands bury in warm places, touching her body is even more pleasurable for him than it is for her for that very reason. On her side of things his touch is clumsy but loving. Forgone foreplay is not missed. They don’t tease and ease and keep things perfectly slow. He does his best to thrust up into her heat, groaning thickly in relief. This time isn’t like the others because the lack of sexual pleasure. It’s there, its not like they aren’t enjoying themselves, it’s just the pleasure derives from each other’s safe, physical presence over how they personally feel. Anna doesn’t remove any clothing unless its necessary, the absence of any cloth over his body makes her cringe with anxiety. She rocks her hips over him, clinging to his shoulders and whimpering his name. Kristoff has his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing a rhythm that sounds like her name. He grips her waist, trying to loosen and tighten his grip to force blood back into them. Sweat forms on her forehead, but her thighs feel cold where they touch him. 

Anna dotes her body on him. She’s dominant, she maintains the rhythm, she controls the pace. This is what makes it so different. He loves it, and wishes he could fully feel what it was like to have her ride him like this instead of him bouncing her on his cock. 

“I could have lost you,” she leans down to whisper in his ear.

“It’s the worst feeling in the world, isn’t it?” she feels his lips move over her collarbone.

She tangles a hand in his hair, gripping the strands tightly as she rolls her hips in a different way, feeling his pelvis against her clit. “Did you really love me that much then, to feel like this when it was me?” 

“I definitely loved you that much.” 

“I think I love you more than you loved me then.”

“Don’t be so sure,” his hands move down to the curve of her hips, dragging her roughly against him to stimulate her clit, “I’ve never loved anything like I love you. Even then.”

Her hips buck wildly against him, and she falls apart at his simple touch. He leans back to watch her intense orgasm, groaning appreciatively as she rode out the rough waves. Her muscles clenching and squeezing around his shaft lead him down with her, pleasure spiraling out of control in the nerves of his body that can feel it.  
She breathes heavily, choking about her feelings for him and how scared she was and how she never wanted to feel that scared again. 

His lips touch wherever he can reach, apologetic whispers and words of love coating her skin.

A calm settles over them, her body over his and the warmth growing in his chest and he honestly feels worlds better. His clumsy hands feel over her, rubbing circles on her back and hips gently, the friction warming the two of the pleasantly.

“Was there something…?” he begins curiously, wondering what felt new. 

“Yeah,” she cuts in, kissing him. “It felt different.”

“I liked it.”

“So did I. we should try it again, when you’re better.”

“Well, there’s some motivation right there.” He presses a kiss to her brow.

She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t encourage you.”

“Well, if you’re going to be like that every time I almost die…”

Her lips push over his, her tongue invading his mouth roughly. The dominance in her kiss shuts him up, even after she pulls back.

“I’ll be whatever you want, as long as you don’t scare me like that again.” Fire bites around her pupils, her eyes pinning him down and making him want to agree to everything she says. 

The problem isn’t that simple. There’s not something he can just stop to end her worries. 

But right now, in their little world, all he wants is for it to be true. It was just a silly accident and he was as careful as possible. They can discuss this another time.

He draws her closer in his arms, his lips itching for another strong kiss from her. 

“Whatever I want, you say?”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I do not condone intercourse as a treatment for falling through ice. I’m pretty sure it really fuck up circulation to certain appendages. Like, the fingers and toes. At least his dick is working. Don’t look at me like that.  
> Partially based on a request about near-death-experience sex. Hope you liked it, anon.  
> Please leave a review! Follow me on tumblr! Send in a request! Seriously! You won’t regret it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna remembers her first time with Kristoff

The first time is slow and ruffled and fumbling and cautious. 

And gentle. Very Gentle,

She’ll never forget how gentle. 

Anna had romanticized fire and intensity; life and death all in every touch. It wasn’t that. 

It was sweet. Perfectly sweet. Whenever she remembered it, she smiled, blushed, even giggled on some occasions because it was a happy memory, not lusty or wild with abandon. It wasn’t skirt-hitching, bosom-heaving romance novel fodder. It didn’t spiral her into a pleasure-induced nirvana. It was simple and pure and good, their first time. Above all things, it was happy. And sweet. And gentle. 

Not to be mistaken for a lack of longing, mind you. They’d both thought about it longingly, often, hourly. They’d regret times where their privacy had been squandered with innocent exchanges, not touching, only to part ways and have each of them in their rooms agonizing over what they could have been doing, could have been feeling…

They didn’t want to waste the lack of supervision. The kisses grew bolder, hands more curious and soon not just their lips were pressed together, leading to blushing and cursing and one pulling away in shock a few times. They’d wanted to very, very badly. Yet it was unspoken, unyielding, that she wasn’t lifting her skirts for him in a barn for their first time and he wasn’t trying to slither up them either. So they’d pull away when it all got too much, and retreat their separate ways to simmer in frustration and sulk in disappointment. 

But when he really took her, the timing was right and she’d never trade any rough exchange in the stables for lying in his bed as he kissed her until they were both nodding at each other, not talking but communicating “yes…yes…yes,” until they were both naked and clutching each other. It was slowly paced, the clothes came off as layers, working through a routine but with less between them each time around. Less fabric. Less doubt. Less worry. 

More excitement. More affection. More joy. 

His brain seemed to know what to do but his hands did not, which led to half-hearted, sheepish chuckling on his end and a series of surprised and halting noises from her. His eyes stayed on her face, gauging every little reaction. He knew to touch lightly first, in every scenario, because she wasn’t too shy to push against his fingers for more. 

She didn’t always do that. When his fingers stroked over her clit, it seemed enough for her, no rough palming was required to make her shiver and whimper as she trembled with her orgasm. They didn’t need to use all their strength, all their intensity, all their heat to work each other over in exhaustive lust. She was hungry for his kisses and his curious hands. He wanted to feel her, knew he could feel her again so was trying to focus on what he could this one time.  
They both knew he was taking as much time as possible so she’d be ready enough, wet enough, to make this as easy for her as possible. All her limbs were splayed on the mattress and her bones felt like they weren’t solid anymore. 

There was no tension, no intense need for completion, everything felt good and it could have gone on that way forever. 

When he finally began to sink inside her, slowly, he was nearly too big and she was stretched but everything was so, so gentle. His hands massaged her hips and ass to ease tension away, and he filled her push by gentle push, until she was smiling up at him, nodding “yes…yes…yes,” again and he finally unclenched his hands to begin moving, the tension of waiting gone. He covered her in kisses and stroked his hands all over her, seeming to remember minutes into it that he could kiss her nipples now, that is was alright for him to touch the secret parts of her, and seemed to fumbling try to make up for forgetting. He adjusted her legs so her clit was nudged by his pelvis with each thrust. He was astoundingly gentle, attentive, but couldn’t help when his head dropped to her shoulder, groaning out her name as he came inside her the first time. Warmth filled her insides at the feel of his cum, and she shuddered pleasantly and the sensation of him in her, for the last fleeting seconds where he pulled out, blushing over his performance. She hadn’t finished. She didn’t care. He did.

“I’m sorry. I can…uh…make it up to you,” he reached a hand down, coaxing it between her legs. She shuddered, everything was tender and raw and she wasn’t sure that this was what she wanted. 

She shook her head at his abashed face, kissing him repeatedly and smiling and giggling against his mouth, sliding her wet thighs around his hips and lavishing him with her own warmth and affection. 

Kristoff rolled off her and rested himself by her side, twining one hand in hers as they caught their breath. 

“Mmm,” she finally said, rolling her hips and drawing closer, making it impossible for him to not put his arms around her.

He let out a breathy chuckle, pressing kiss after kiss to her brow, running his thumbs up and down her ribs. She ran her hands from the base of his neck to his chest, and they made a collective effort to scoot closer, bringing their bodies together. He smiled at her, brushing his nose against her. 

“I loved this,” he confessed quietly.

She laughed, relieved that it was over, but not in a dreadful way. The pain was out of the way, and after crossing this threshold they could only go forward. And right now she had time to enjoy him without building up to satisfying their physical desires. She felt the form of his chest under her hands, saw the kind light –like something had dissolved- in his eyes, and basked in his warmth. She could really look at him, his chest and arms and neck and face. 

“You were so gentle,” her eyes were large with gratitude and he smiled proudly and kissed her.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” his eyes searched for any physical cue from her, “Did I?”

“Nope,” she took his face in her hands, “I loved it too.”

He heaved a sigh like he was able to breathe again. “I really wanted you to.”

They exchanged quiet smiles, secret smiles with laughter and warmth in the depths of their eyes, because there was nothing else to say. It was a slow back-and-forth of movements after that, figuring out how the other would sleep more comfortably; her arms went around his neck before his encircled her waist. He shifted from his side to leaning slightly more on his shoulder and back, pulling her to lie snuggled against his ribcage. His hand held her thigh over his hip, securing it to where it had been lazily draped. One arm stretched up her back to lace itself in her hair. She found herself resting her hands on his chest again, discovering she quite liked keeping them there. They fell asleep like that, breathing on each other’s faces and nudging against each other like a litter of puppies. 

This was what she remembered. This was what she loved. 

It was perfect. And gentle. And warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N My headcanon is that they’re big snugglers. Look at them together. Prime snuggling.   
> Also, kinda surprised I wrote this. I loathe first time stories if only because it’s always mind-blowing and dirt and hot. With these two dorks, and their unavoidable size difference, it would be a bit more fumbling and awkward.   
> This isn’t the hottest thing I could have written. I know that. It’s the point of this. I get confused by really lusty, hot sex first time fics with them. In certain situations it works, but I think something like that wouldn’t be as impulsive in the beginning, especially when he falters at the opportunity to put an arm around her. They’re what I call a “I love you, you butthead” couple and that’ s their dynamic in my eyes.  
> Not that I discourage lusty, hot sex fics. Keep’ em coming.


	4. Shivering

He’d never get used to her shivering. 

There was a stolen moment weeks ago where they had met in hurried secret in her room one night, sparing only an hour because they were just learning of pleasure and still exercised caution in their experiments. 

Her dress was hiked up around her hips and he pushed two fingers inside her, scissoring them the way he knew she liked. 

At first he focused on how she dragged breath through her shuddering lungs, and her arms laced tight around him to hold herself up.

Then he noticed the shaking.  
She trembled, visibly, whimpering soft words and falling against him, swooning, and it reminded him of that awful journey down the mountain. Holding her carefully, rigidly, and coming as close to praying as he ever had. He felt her little body shake and quiver, just like that time. 

But this time, he could hold her as close as he wanted, chase the chill down her neck and force it out of her blood. 

It wasn’t cold that was making her like this. It was him. 

This was a very powerful and dangerous realization for Kristoff. It terrified him. 

She came with a full-body shudder, clutching to him weakly and breathing shallowly. Her kisses were sloppily mouthy on his skin, and she drew him close, and he held her numbly, remembering the time he couldn’t save her. 

Every shiver drove him insane. 

“It’s just a fever,” they told him weeks later as she lay in bed sick, but that didn’t calm him down. That didn’t help him rest. It didn’t do anything to help. 

She was so flushed and so impossible small, a roll of blankets wrapped around her like a pastry crust. She shivered in the nest her nurses made her, and he begged for extra blankets, to move her closer to the fire, but they told him they didn’t want her to overheat. He couldn’t stand to watch this, yet he never left, he sat by her bedside until he was half-sick with exhaustion and worry.

He held her limp, sweaty little hand as she drifted back and forth from dreaming, half-conscious and fuzzy when she woke up, unable to answer his questions, only murmuring gibberish as he offered her water or food or another blanket, doctor’s orders be damned.  
He’d never get used to seeing her shiver. 

When her fever broke, he joined her in her bed. Tentatively at first, he lifted his body over hers, hovering, nuzzling, exploring. It was animalistic, instinctual, how he nudged his nose against her jaw and under her ear, the way he watched her with dark eyes. 

He looked so frightened, so morbidly curious, like he was checking for signs of death.

“Are you okay?” she whispered dryly. He curled his hand around the back of her head and fed her water from the glass next to the bed, careful to help her sip and lifting her forward so she could swallow.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said the second time, letting his shoulders fall from relief. She lowered himself back over her. 

Kristoff buried his face to her breast, and she moaned softly and snuggled closer. He gave her bosom gentle, aimless kisses that floated lazily through her nerves. His licks against her bared breasts were light and quick, focusing on distance instead of thoroughness. Her thighs quivered around her hips. He glanced up at her, and with the clarity in her eyes and the way she bit her lip, he knew that the shivers were from him. This made him tremble with fear, from the past and from that horrible week of sickness and for the future and every convulsion of her body, good and bad. He shook with fear next to her, and she clung to him, gripping his hair and shushing him as his breath grew ragged and nearly gone. She kissed him, willing her breath into his. 

He buried his face in her neck when they made love that night, and he shivered from his head to the base of his spine. She held him to her warmth, entangling him in her limbs. He felt so safe, so encased in warmth, so calm. She had one hand tangled in his hair as he moved over her, clutching her hips tightly in his shaking hands. He clung to her like she was going to wither into nothing and float away from him. She held him lovingly, almost maternally against her chest as he moved, trying to steady his shaking body. She bucked against him when her orgasm hit, but was otherwise very still and gentle with him. He seemed to sense he needed it. 

He was moving sporadic, so desperate and almost needy as he fucked her. She accepted this change without question, it was what he needed and honestly she felt ready to cry at the fear in his eyes. Every time something happened to her, he got like this. Every slip on the ice, every time she got sick, every time she got cold. Not exactly when it was happening. But after. There’d be a quiet moment after she recovered, or steadied herself, or came inside from the cold, and he’d look at her, checking on her in his way, and he’d let out a breath the he’d been holding for what seemed like whatever. Then he’d grab her, get his body as close as possible.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered finally, the firelight making his skin look glazed in gold. He shook his head against her collarbone, his fingers digging into her back. His breathing was heavy and the shaking hadn’t subsided. 

His shivering terrified her. 

“You’re trembling,” she says, growing frightened. He never lost control. He was never like this in front of her. He hid his own fear so well.

“Tell me,” she urged, turning her head to the side to cough. 

He tensed at the sound, holding her sweaty body to his even more tightly. 

“Anna…” he said quietly, without breath as if even breathing on her would harm her, “I was so scared.”

This confession, so secret he practically buried his face on the pillows to say it, shot a cold bullet of dread through her bloodstream. 

“Oh,” she whispered, threading her fingers together in his hair, “Oh Kristoff, please, you don’t have to get so worried.”

“I can’t help it.” He groaned, nosing the underside of her jaw. 

“This is getting to be a problem. I’m going to get sick Kristoff, it happens. I’m going to hurt myself and have some brushes with danger, and you know what, you do that same thing to me.” She brushed his hair off his forehead, pressing a kiss to his brow. “You get to throw yourself into dangerous situations all the time, and yes, half of me is scared to death every time you go to harvest. But I still let you go. Because I trust you to be able to take care of yourself. Do you trust me?”

“It’s not about trust when you’re shivering and lying here with a fever.” 

He wouldn’t look at her. He refused. 

“Hey, I can’t promise I’ll always be okay. But you have to stop letting it scare you.”

“I hate being helpless around you. You died, Anna. Right in front of me.” 

He said it so loudly she drew back, as much as she could with him draped over her body. 

She sat quietly, pensively, as he burrowed back into her chest, glaring at the fire. 

“I hate that I couldn’t save you.”

“It wasn’t your curse.” She whispered, bending to brush her lips to his ear. “I had to break it on my own.” Her words are furious, not angry at him but strong and harsh. 

“You were my curse,” he says softly, brushing his finger under her ear. It isn’t accusing. It’s loving. 

“There’s no way to break this one.” She reminds him, pressing a kiss to his brow. 

“I’d never want to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please leave a comment! This one is going to be continued, so subscribe and leave some feedback; requests, critiques, suggestions.


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